


Fixing Planes

by drunkenRabbit



Category: Drifters (Anime & Manga)
Genre: Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Multi, Other, Passive-aggression, if continued then
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-18
Updated: 2020-02-18
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:28:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22684738
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/drunkenRabbit/pseuds/drunkenRabbit
Summary: Naoshi's been through a lot of shit. He's stranded in th middle of no where and his pride and joy lays in front of him demolished. How's he going to fix it? That's where you come in.
Relationships: Kanno Naoshi (Drifters)/Reader
Comments: 4
Kudos: 28





	Fixing Planes

**Author's Note:**

> this is a redo of a really crappy fanfic I wrote on Wattpad a while back (when it was completely free). I adore Naoshi's character and I wanted to do something worthy of his "talk shit get hit" attitude.

“Damn it! Stupid fucking tin can!” 

It was the fifth time Naoshi shocked himself with the wiring inside his plane. If he knew he would be sending bolts of electricity running up his arms, maybe he should've thought twice before punching the main control panel. But in hindsight, Naoshi decided taking a few shocks was better than plummeting to his death. 

Rubbing his hands with his oil stained rag, the pilot leaned back and observed his progress on resurrecting his fallen comrade. Its wings were bent like hands on a clock, the tail was nowhere in sight, and the engine still leaked of fluids Naoshi wasn't sure of with all the rust and foliage covering it. Any other pilot would look at this miserable heap and move on to the next one. They wouldn't think twice about sending it to the mechanic or getting an entirely new one.

But there wasn't a _next one_ for Naoshi and he wasn't just some _other_ pilot. He was the Hikotai of the 306th Squadron of the 201st Naval Air Group, a fighter ace with 25 confirmed kills under his belt. He never backed down from a fight, whether it'd be with the enemy, his superiors, or even a stray dog. No one puts Naoshi Kanno in a corner, especially not his own damn plane. 

“ _Sky God!_ ”

Naoshi craned his head to look at the dog man approaching. Despite not being able to understand a word the dog man and his tribe said, Naoshi paid close attention to every syllable the creature made as if it were his last. Even if he couldn't understand them, it didn't mean he had to be a dick to them. 

The dog man, who Naoshi named Hachikō, motioned for him to follow. Putting his grease stained rag down, Naoshi followed Hachikō towards the center of the dog man village into their former chief's tent. 

Tied down to a tree stump and gagged, a young woman dressed in what seemed to be a mechanic’s uniform sat with the most pissed off look Naoshi has ever seen. The dog men around her stood with spears clenched and shoulders stiff, one of them sporting a busted eye. Hachikō motioned for the woman's gag to be taken out but was met by a nervous shake of the head by each of the guardsmen.

Hachikō, who Naoshi had come to know as the most passive member of the dog tribe, gave a loud bark and growled at the guardsmen. It worked and the guard closest to the woman removed the gag, quickly retreating back to his position. The woman shot daggers at him as he ran away. Hachikō began to talk once again but the words were now a blur to Naoshi as he looked at the girl in front of him. 

His eyes had widened at the sight of a crudely stitched on American flag on the sleeve of the navy blue coverall and his pulse went from ground control to Major Tom in minutes.

“Hey! What're you? A fucking American?” 

The woman, obviously confused at the animosity gushing from Naoshi's mouth, gave a small nod. She soon regretted this decision.

“Well this is fucking perfect! I'm the middle of fucking no where surrounded by a pack of talking dogs with a single pack of cigarettes to my name and a fucking American of all people shows up! What's the matter? Not the nice big fat American welcome you expected? Huh? You fucking bald eagle—!”

As Naoshi raved on, the woman quirked a brow as a look of annoyance scribbled on to her face. She was indeed American, born and raised to a middle class family in Tusla, Oklahoma. Her father was a mechanic and her brothers worked in construction, leaving her mother alone to deal with her and the house. 

Because of this, [Y/N] helped her mother with daily chores and errands, which meant trips to the local convenience store, which meant getting to know Mr. Nakamura, which meant talking to him on a daily basis. Do this 365 days a year and somewhere along the lines you'll learn another language just before secondary school. 

“Yeah. I'm a _fucking American_. Nice to meet you too, asshole.”

Naoshi paused midway of his rant and stared at [Y/N] as if she had grown another head. He straightened up a tad and his shoulders relaxed. A smirk then etched itself on his features.

“Your Japanese is shit.”

“At least I don't _smell_ like shit.”

“At least I wasn't bound and gagged to a fucking tree stump.”

[Y/N] opened her mouth to retort but shut it midway. Even though he looked like an absolute prick, the man in front of her was the first person she's seen and talked to in weeks. If it wasn't for her uncontrollable need to talk to something other than a tree and that she was currently tied down to one, [Y/N] would've got right up and left.

“Yeah. About that,” [Y/N] motioned towards her bound arms. 

Naoshi looked back at Hachikō and gave a small nod. The dog man nodded in return and bent down, ripping off the restraints and allowed for [Y/N] to stand up. She rubbed at her now swollen wrists and looked up at Naoshi, quirking a thick brow.

“Thanks. You're not gonna yell at me again, are ya?”

Naoshi shrugged.

“Didn't know you pig lickers had the brain capacity to learn other languages,” Naoshi began to walk out of the tent, leaving Hachikō and [Y/N] behind,” guess we hit you hard enough during the war to knock some sense in you.”

“During the war? What war?” [Y/N] asked, having followed Naoshi out of the tent and outside of the small village. Naoshi stopped and spun on his heel to face [Y/N], causing her to stop dead in her tracks. His face was conflicted and it looked like he was about to take a major shit. [Y/N] took a step back.

“What do you mean ‘ _what war_ ’? You don't fucking remember? You American ass wipes—!”

“Would you shut it with the ‘ _American_ ’ bullshit? You barely even know me! How are you gonna judge me just because I'm American? I'm not shitting on you for being Japanese!”

“That’s because you weren't fucking there!” Naoshi pointed a grease covered finger at [Y/N],” you don't get it! You Americans have been shitting on everyone for as long as the fucking history books can record! It's your fault—!”

“It's not my—!” [Y/N]’s eyes widened. She hadn't noticed they started to walk again and arrived at a small clearing in the forest covered by the rubble of an old castle. There, on top of a huge slab of stone, sat a gigantic Imperial Japanese Navy fighter plane. Its wings were bent and the glass surrounding the cockpit was shattered,” –fault.” 

[Y/N] felt all the anger dissipate from her body and turn into a thick smog of guilt. She looked back at Naoshi, who had turned into a shade of red [Y/N] never thought possible to appear on a person's face. He was angry, frustrated, but more importantly, he was overwhelmed. He looked as if he was gonna cry.

[Y/N] shifted her weight from one foot to the other. She wasn't equipped for situations like this. Her hands were made for gears and rough material, not for delicate back rubs and soft hugs. [Y/N]’s eyebrows then shot up as she spotted a small tool box on the ground. She looked back at Naoshi, the gears in her head turning a mile a minute until finally: **_Click!_ **

“So what happened to her?” [Y/N] said slowly. Naoshi furrowed his brows and looked back at the wreck of a plane. He gave a small huff and turned back to the mechanic.

“Fell out of the sky, blew some dragon’s brains out of it's skull, and crash landed here.”

“Can I take a peek?” 

“Why?”

Animosity was still fresh in Naoshi’s voice. 

“Well, it's just—,” [Y/N] fumbled on her words before pulling at her coveralls. She gave a small smile,” I _am_ a mechanic. I could probably look at it if you want? See if I can do anything?”

Naoshi huffed.

“I already gutted it out,” Naoshi said, walking over to where he'd previously been tinkering. He crouched down and pointed to the mess of wires,” see? There's nothing you could— **hey** ! What the **hell** do you think you're doing?!”

While Naoshi was talking, [Y/N] had made the executive decision to climb up towards the cockpit and investigate the wreckage. She was in awe over how bent up the main control panel was.

“ **Get the hell down from there!** ”

“Not until you tell me what _the hell_ you did to this control panel!”

Naoshi gritted his teeth and stood up, fists clenched at his sides. His blood began to boil and the thought of someone else touching his stuff, broken or not, sent him flying. It didn't matter if this girl was a mechanic or that she was a girl at all; Naoshi felt the need to punch [Y/N] right in the nose. So instead of continuing his yelling match sitting, Naoshi hosted himself up to the cockpit.

“It looks like you punched it.”

“No shit, ass wipe. What did you think I did? Hit my head against it?”

[Y/N] quirked a brow and turned her head around. 

“Actually, yeah. There's blood on some of the controls and you still got some dried blood on your forehead.”

“What?”

Naoshi shot his arms up and touched his forehead. His fingers ran over a chalky residue he could only figure was blood. Before jumping down to grab a rag from his tool box, a clean handkerchief was shoved into his face.

“Take it. As an apology,” [Y/N] said. She then smiled,” we got off on the wrong foot. I'm [Y/F/N]”

[Y/N] held out her hand. Naoshi looked down at it, then at the handkerchief, and then at [Y/N] herself. He clicked his tongue. 

“Fine,” Naoshi began to dab the cloth on his forehead. He grabbed a hold of [Y/N]’s hand, tightly gripping it, and gave a quick shake,” Naoshi Kanno.”

**Author's Note:**

> may or may not continue this? idk... LOVE Y'ALL 💖


End file.
